


heartline

by toque



Series: spooky wars [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Other, but not the way you're probably thinking, specifically about pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:15:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27197692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toque/pseuds/toque
Summary: Creating something from nothing is much easier with the Force.
Series: spooky wars [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991056
Comments: 20
Kudos: 45
Collections: Spooky Wars Week





	heartline

**Author's Note:**

> fill for day one, "darkside magic"

Plagueis slit the throat of the sacrifice and watched the body slump over the altar, smiling as the beige robes began darkening with blood. It mixed with the blue and darker rust that had been spilled to create the glyphs that powered the ritual, staining the altar beneath it a deeper black and absorbing the faint light of the chamber.

She began the chant, reaching into the Force and calling it forward through the subtle wound that the death of its children has created. The ritual was long and involved, her own creation based on a vague rumor that had taken years to track down and translate, and it represented the mastery Plagueis had over the Force. She finished the chant, arms held high.

There was no reaction.

Plagueis began the chant again.

And again.

Fury built and her voice grew hoarse from the guttural sounds of high sith as Plagueis kept chanting.

The Force danced away from her snare, skirting the edges somehow and snarling, she tore down her own mental shields, reaching out to _make_ it answer her call.

The first indication the ritual was working was the sudden flicker of the candles around the altar. Archaic, yes, but they lent a nice ambiance and long-ago lessons had been learned well—Sith rituals and technology simply didn’t mix. The gentle draft grew stronger, whipping the air in the chamber around and snuffing out the light, leaving only pitch darkness and the overwhelming scent of iron.

There was a moment of satisfaction to muse about how fitting it was for a Jedi’s death to be met with such literal darkness before the pain hit.

A spike of agony in her abdomen made her double over with a high-pitched keen. Her master had not raised her to be a delicate wilting flower unused to pain, but she couldn’t contain her low moan of terror as the Force whipped through her. _Perhaps she had made a mistake_ —she didn’t have time to further question her ritual as the pain doubled and she collapsed to the floor.

Clawing her robes open to see what she had done to herself with a mangled ritual, she was faintly surprised through her agony to find that there was only a faint red glow under her skin. It seemed disproportionate to the pain until her skin began writhing, growing as she watched in numb horror.

Time stretched, meaningless as she screamed through the pain.

She didn’t know how long it took for the light to die down, and she stumbled from the ritual chamber with a hand over her stomach back to her own quarters.

It was beyond simple to pass out between one breath and the next.

Her dreams were filled with the Force’s anger, demands to be made whole again, fury at her audacity to steal from it. Black holes and stars going supernova filled her mind in obscure, unreal threats to something less than a grain of sand—but shifted the course of the universe.

She woke with a start with imploding stars behind her eyes and barely made it to her fresher before vomiting. It took a feat of will to make her stomach settle again, and she straightened from the sink after rinsing her mouth to see her smug expression reflected back at her.

No other Sith had truly grasped the potential of midichlorians—that they weren’t simply _there_ , they could be manipulated and taught. Grown, even. Unlike matter, they could be created and destroyed, but it was much simpler to simply steal them.

She looked down where her stomach was once again concealed by loose, dark robes and gingerly placed a hand over the tender area. 

The ritual she’d created made it possible for a mortal to bind part of the Force to themself, creating a hybrid of sorts. It would have a shortened gestation period, and she felt as though she could still feel the writhing.

Sith rituals demanded sacrifice.

Carrying her experiment herself was hers, and though she’d never sought to be a mother, perhaps she could play the part well enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes i think it's really stupid that darths plagueis and sidious would perform a ritual and have no way to tell if it worked. then i think about how cool shmi would be as a sith lord. therefore, you get this. next chapter is also part of spooky week!


End file.
